The cap of another bottle popped. Bitter bubbles bit his tongue as he took stock over the sleepy town below. High above them all, Ramzan sat atop his roof, drinking under the stars, floating amidst a vast Universe that never ceased to pause him. He slipped the empty back to its cardboard slot, hung a freshie below his knees, stretched his back, and cricked his neck. Wrapped in the night, he took another sip from his beer and reflected on the textures of the last week. Screw it, despite some less than ideal interactions, he was proud of himself. He liked the kind of man he'd become. He loved his moral code.
Getting perspective on life from the heights of his home was by no means an irregular activity for Ramzan. A little too reckless for some, alone and above he felt safe. From a child who'd been too afraid to ascend a ladder to a man who looked for a God's eye view, every cold rung up, every time, was a new validation.
The glow of his neighbour's televisions dotted the windows as far as the eye could see. Years before, the light came from patios, and welcoming front doors. Back then the air hung with rolling laughter, blended amongst the musking mix of perfuming Jasmine night blooms, and nicotine. Who else makes time for this sort of thing anymore? a lonely thought asked. Evenings spent speaking with others, or God forbid time alone allocated for uncompromising conversations with oneself. Hours spent in quiet solitude under the great expanse of which we're all both fabricated from, and are. The era of social media, streaming services, and instantaneous food delivery had poisoned a society Ramzan not only remembered, but longed for. The concept of community mythologized but not practised. Comfort, and convenience, in exchange for thoughtless, oblivious lives.
It was as if everyone had amnesia, and couldn’t think to look up. Forgetting of the mystery, and wonder above, neglecting the bigger picture, of which, Ramzan often took stock. Likely what led him to have such different, righteous perspectives, and why he thought so many people missed the obvious.
It didn't matter that he was alone. In a lot of ways it made him feel more assured, allowed him space to philosophize. Sure, sometimes it was a playground for his ego, Ramzan took another sip, and acknowledged his amble self esteem. It seemed logical, and ok that it might swell from time to time. It wasn't that he thought he was intrinsically better than anyone else, but he did like himself, and the things he did. There had been a considerable amount of effort made in order to think kindly about who he was. A lifetime of cultivating his activities, ethos, and moral code.
Looking downwards became tiresome, and Ramzan searched for distraction. His nails dragged against the scratchy, sandy, roof tiles as he searched for constellations above. A discarded bottle cap found its way to his fingertips and he toyed with rolling the small lopsided disk beside him. A nagging thought knocked as the cap collapsed for the umpteenth time and he remembered a conversation he had with his mother from earlier in the week. Was saying those things worth it? What a quandary.
Anger smouldered in Ramzan's lower back, and his stomach churned as he relieved their lunch that week. It wasn't just an anger with others, and their communication, he had frustrations with himself as well. In his inability to keep things tranquil and pacified a hundred percent of the time. Occasionally choosing to set fire conversationally rather than give patience and room to grow from what he perceived as bad ideas. As he looked around the horizon he sighed, and slugged more nectar from his beer. This is what he was looking for, peace, harmony. Why couldn't everything feel like the time spent on rooftops? Why couldn't he always steer his interactions with others to something that captured the essence of his evening now?
It was not that he had put his foot in his mouth per se, he'd said what he'd said because he believed it. Ramzan hadn't meant to hurt her, but he did believe every word that had escaped from behind his teeth. Nevertheless Ramzan couldn't shake a lingering remorse. He didn't regret his words. They were intentional. Kind of. It was complicated. Whether he liked to admit it or not, the whole interaction still dogged him.
Which led him back to his words a few nights ago. Ramzan couldn't shake a pungent guilty feeling, and it confused him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was having such issues with it. Why the intrusive thought's grasp wouldn't let go. Again, Ramzan relived the conversation over, dissecting each sentence. Only to come to the same resolution, it wasn't the words that bothered him. They were, as far as the limitations of his own perspectives would allow him to perceive, objectively true. There were no qualms. The glaring reality of his statements were so obvious they bordered on excruciating. Yet watching the unspoken veil lift, feeling the truth exposed, hadn't been satisfactory. Instead of realization, and epiphany within his mother's eyes, Ramzan saw hurt.
The truth didn't feel as good as one would've hoped.
A settling bird's night song sang in the distance, and Ramzan rattled the remaining beer in his bottle. Where did he stand on this? How could he settle it, improve? Perhaps it was the methodology, the phrasing, that had contaminated the conversation. He didn't know. As far as Ramzan could tell, truth was like a sticky bandage that needed an unapologetic rip.
Ramzan had no problem admitting uncomfortable truths. He knew he was far from perfect. That sitting on a rooftop on the cusp of winter was reckless, and illogical. Drinking alone on top of that made it borderline idiotic. Ramzan also knew the truth about his tolerance to alcohol, as well as physical capabilities, and barring some uncontrollable freak occurrence, perhaps a bat frightening him from his ladder, or stepping on a racoon's tail, he was completely safe and within his capabilities. There was also the real truth that these sorts of activities, adventurous escapades, did wonders for his head, for his stress levels, for his soul.
Despite the fact that what he said and the truth were often married together, that didn't mean that he needed to say them, or that it benefited anyone from hearing it. One of the most interesting, and frustrating, truths that Ramzan had discovered is how there could be multiple truths running congruent with one and other. Old adages like "Out of sight, out of mind," and "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" were as conflicting as they were true. Ramzan wondered if he could learn to focus on some of the more uplifting, and complimentary truths, rather than serve cold, uncompromising facts all the time. Perhaps that would lend to the change he wanted to see.
Was it necessary to highlight every unnoticed thing? Maybe not, though it was thrilling in a lot of ways. A breeze tousled his hair and he sighed. How would he feel if he changed? The thought soured, felt contradictory, inauthentic to his values and the man he'd worked so hard on trying to become. His chest felt heavy.
Loath to admit it, Ramzan knew he was a contributing player in the dramas of his life. That he couldn't lean blame on the shoulders of others. The how purplexed him. How could he balance rooms without compromising his own integrity?
Leaving people feeling less after words he said was not something he liked. That was an unspoken, undeniable truth. That still didn't mean that he necessarily regretted his actions. It just didn’t always feel great. There had to be more, there had to be something missing. Ramzan could feel it. That nag he often felt returned. The sense he'd overlooked something, that he hadn't zoomed out enough, that there was more to the picture.
What were the goals? Why did he speak up? What was the seed of his incessant need to shine a light to truth. Ramzan knew his efforts were in attempt to bring balance, truthfully, to do good. While he didn't think it made sense to lie to others to make the world a better place, surely greater efforts could be made in how he went about it. It felt like he was on the right path, although perhaps a little strayed.
With the six pack almost empty, his quandaries remained unresolved. There was however a resolution that he'd slow down, do better, think harder. Focus his intention on improving things, but with a little more warmth and compassion, rather than unforgiving truths.
For now another beer wouldn't hurt. Another night under the stars.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write
PS: Be sure to check out Exaggerated Shadow’s new release for A Little Happy, A Little Sag... on all your favourite streaming platforms!